


Unsteady

by nativehaole (sweeneybearsam)



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Gen, PTSD, Steve Has PTSD, mentions of Charlie and Grace, platonic mcdanno, so does danny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 04:47:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13023543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweeneybearsam/pseuds/nativehaole
Summary: I might have tagged this wrong with graphic depictions, but since Steve mentioned his shooting, I wanted to be safe. Shrug emoji, bro. Alright. So. 8.10 hasn't happened yet, but I am terrified, so have this. Weeks after the shooting, Danny is still struggling with the way he's coping with the trauma. Cue Super SEAL talking his boy down and acknowledging his own PTSD, because fuck you Lenkov, IT NEEDS TO BE DISCUSSED DAMMIT. My second attempt at platonic McDanno. I don't know, I am all over the place.





	Unsteady

“Danny?”

 

He jumped, head whipping around to find Steve standing in the doorway to the bedroom, head canted and blue eyes dark with concern as he watched him, confusing the detective for a moment until it hit him he was standing in front of the mirror again. He blinked a few times, hand running over the healing scar again and shaking his head as he moved to grab his shirt, pulling it over his head and slipping his arms through, wordlessly pushing past Steve to get out into the hall. 

 

Part of him wanted to be mad. How the hell did Steve get in without him hearing? He’d been on a hair trigger since leaving the hospital, there was no way- until he remembered he was working with a literal ninja. A ninja who was inching up behind him again, mindful of the distance and seemingly being very careful of keeping it- which just made Danny more irritated. He loved and hated the way McGarrett handled him. He was grateful, most days, that he didn’t need words to make his needs known… but sometimes, he wanted to have to scream at the other man, if only to find relief from that scratch of a shriek that lived in his throat these days. 

 

They stayed in that silence all the way to the kitchen. The kids were with Rachel this weekend, so the reason behind the surprise appearance is easy to pinpoint. Steve made himself at home, moving past Danny to start coffee, then going into the fridge and staring a long second before pulling things out, using his eyes - only his fucking eyes - to tell Danny to sit down. And he hated that too, you know? He  _ hates  _ how easy it is to read his partner’s mind… because that means Steve can read his, and lately… his thoughts are not the kind he wants someone as war torn as Steve to deal with. There was a silent screaming match, Danny just glaring, not moving to sit as silently instructed, and Steve was fighting back with the way the hue and pitch of his own eyes dance back and forth from warm and soft to hard and stern. They stared each other down for a long moment, before Danny need to hear the physical noise, not just the mental static, so his voice ground out, rough and low. 

 

“There’s this fun thing called knocking. And calling ahead, you know, so the house you’re  _ breaking into  _ isn’t currently occupied by children. Or unstable cops who have loaded guns.”

 

Steve flinched at that and Danny hated that. He hated the way the strong, unshaken warrior of a man he was so simultaneously in love with and constantly sick of looked small and rueful in that moment. He hated himself a little for making him look like that, moving to sit and staring at the tattoos on his hand as Steve’s voice cut through the static again, his tone unreadable. 

 

“Figured you hadn’t eaten. You haven’t been answering your phone, I figured it would be easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. So to speak. I’d say I can leave, but I am not going to do that until you’ve eaten. So… I don’t know what to tell you, partner.”

 

“You ‘figured’? What does that mean?”

 

He knew. He didn’t need Steve to tell him how well he could predict his reactions, but he asked anyway. Maybe that’s why the way his partner staying silent shook him. He’d been so out of it since the shooting, dealing with not only his own near death experience, but being forced to deal with the reminder of nearly losing the man standing there working on fixing batter for French Toast. Logic dictated he should have been attached to Steven like a fucking parasite, but he’d done the opposite. He’d pulled away and shut himself out of everything. From everyone. The stove turning on punctuated the silence and prompted Danny to speak again. 

 

“It’s not your job to make sure I’m in one piece. You’ve done… more than your fair share of saving my ass, McGarrett.”

 

He could  _ feel  _ the nerve that hit. Felt it a beat before the shoulders that had been semi-relaxed tensed and the man before him went from ‘partner’ to ‘soldier’ all over again. He could see the transformation, the way Steve lost his control and slid back to the instinctual comfort of hardening himself. His eyes closed, hoping to shut out the way it hurt him, only to be greeted by gravel and grit, Steve defending himself in the most detached way Danny had ever heard him demonstrate with him. 

 

“You’re my partner. My  _ job  _ is to keep you alive. Literally, that is my job,  _ Williams.  _ To protect you and make sure you are solid. We’ve had this fight for eight years.”

 

The shadow of the SEAL faded then, his words going soft and leaving Danny breathless and guilty as he took in the subtext of the next piece.

 

“It was my job to bring Freddie home. He was my best friend and I couldn’t do that. I thought… Six weeks ago, I thought I was going to have to face that again. To deal with failing my best friend. It’s my job to bring you home. Every day. It doesn’t stop because you won’t leave the house, Danny. I know you, how about that? I know you. I know you’re… you’re dealing with things. I just wanted to take care of you, because you’ve always done that for me.”

 

He moved to set down the spatual he was working with, Danny not even noticing until then that he’d made a small stack of toast already, moving to set the plate on the table, voice staying quiet as he all but pleaded… something that honestly scared Danny. 

 

“--- just let me. I’m trying, man.”

 

He stayed sullen and silent as Steve got him a plate of food, then brought him his coffee, noting that it was made the way he liked it, something he hadn’t realized Steve paid mind to, sipping it and debating if he could handle eating. He decided not to further the weird feeling in the air as it was. He tried to ignore the way he could almost  _ hear  _ the stare from the other man, making sure he did as he was instructed. He was shocked when it kept it down, moving to drop his plate into the sink and moving back to his chair, clearing his throat.

 

“About what you saw…”

 

“I do it too.”

 

He hadn’t expected that, head coming up and watching Steve watch his coffee cup.

 

“-- what?”

 

“Look at the scars. I think it’s normal, it helps you process what happened. When I first came home after the surgery, I would catch myself randomly studying them… sometimes, it just doesn’t feel real and they remind me that it was. It  _ is. _ ” 

 

His head came up, eyes locking on Danny as he reached, closing his hand on the other man’s forearm. Danny cleared his throat, moving to pull away and deciding to stay put, nodding slowly. It was a calming anchor, the way fingers gripped his arm, holding him in place and keeping him on the ground as he reached with his own hand to wipe over his face, exhaling slowly. 

 

“Charlie saw it. When the kids were here last week… he asked and I didn’t know what to say. It’s different with Monkey, she’s older, she understands the job… Charlie is a baby, he can’t… he doesn’t understand that Dad is doing something dangerous. I have scars, I’ve been shot before, why is this what’s messing me up? Why is this the one that I can’t seem to move past?”

 

“Because you nearly died on a boat nine days before you were shot. Because you… because you…” 

 

It shook him, seeing Steve stumble for words. Seeing him so unsteady, when he was normally the rock, the steadfast support system for the merry band of misfits he’d put together. His grip tightened, clearing his own throat, then going on, Danny watching his face as he spoke. 

 

“We all have that one, I think. When we’ve been in the situations we’ve been in. Mine was the plane. You’ve seen my scars, you’ve seen how torn up I am, but those scars… always leave me breathless and nervous. I get flashbacks, in the shower, when I touch them. I remember… I remember the way the bullets felt, and the smell of my blood and how scared you were. How you kept trying to reassure me I wasn’t going to die, how you kept me hanging on… and I can’t breathe. I can’t... I can’t think about anything else. That’s the thing about PTSD, Danny. You can’t control the triggers, you just have… to learn to live with knowing it’s going to happen. People will see the scar, they will ask, and you will be back there. In that moment, and the moments after, and it’s normal.” 

 

In eight years, Danny had never heard Steve discuss the obvious- he’d never heard him talk about his PTSD. He’d learned the tells that his partner was having a moment, but he’d never pressed and Steve had never opened up… so as he nodded, he hoped Steve would go on. He wasn’t disappointed, Steve’s grip going slack and fingers dancing along the line of Danny’s arm, absent as he elaborated.

 

“Once you learn the triggers, it gets easier. You learn to ground yourself, but it’s not a cure all. You need to deal with it, you know? I started going back to group, at the VA, after the shooting, and I know it seems so weird to hear… but maybe you should think about seeing a therapist. You know I’m the first one to argue that, but I know that having somewhere to talk about the problems and having people help me figure out how to cope… it helps. It helps, man, and I think you should at least  _ think  _ about it.”

 

He hadn’t known Steve was going to group again. He’d mentioned it, here and there, mostly when he started talking about Freddie again, but to know he’d gone back regularly since the shooting had him rattled. It had Danny moving off his chair and closing the distance between them to embrace his best friend, squeezing him tight and feeling like he could finally breathe again when the embrace was returned in kind, Steve clinging like he needed Danny to live. They stayed like that a second, then Danny moved away again, hand drifting to his collar, where the scar was. 

 

“I’ll think about it.”

 

He couldn’t fight the soft grin when Steve nodded, responding lightly. 

 

“I love you, too.”

 

He took it back, in his head- hating the silent connection, and the way they read each other. He was grateful for the way Steve understood the underlying declaration, shaking his head and smiling to himself as he moved to hug him again, arms around Steve’s shoulders, chin on his head, closing his eyes and allowing himself to enjoy the contact. They were physical- but this wasn’t normal for them. He wanted it, though. Needed it, so he held himself there, chuckling lightly as he taunted. 

 

“You have a weird head, you can’t shave it again. It’s like a boulder, what the hell, how did that happen? You poor, misshapen man.”

 

Steve’s laugh took his mind off the heavy conversation. It took him somewhere light, somewhere he wasn’t tense and scared and it was something he needed. They joked back and forth for an hour, Steve eventually excusing himself to go home and tend to Eddie, Danny calling after him to tell him he loved him more than Steve. Alone, he didn’t know what to do, so he did something he never thought he’d ever do. Pulling out his computer, he opened the browser, and began searching for information, fingers shaking as he typed out. 

 

_ Symptoms and Causes of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. _

 

It was a start. 


End file.
